The Spellmonger's Honeymoon: A Spellmonger Novella (The Spellmonger Series)

by Terry Mancour

  I would not have it said that the Spellmonger’s task was too easy, she demurred.

  I snorted. Lady Ithalia, I appreciate this guidance – I do – but I hope you try to keep the practical considerations of humani politics in mind. As much as the Alka Alon seem to like me, I am still quite new at all of this.

  As I hope you keep the practical considerations of Alkan politics in mind, she countered. My people are splintered into five kindreds and hundreds of lines, clans, and even tribes, she said, self-consciously.

  Five? Like the Five Duchies?

  Five. But nothing like what you are familiar with. I fear you would find our system of governance too complex. Particularly how the five kindreds relate to each other.

  How so? I find myself intrigued.

  You really wish to know? she asked, surprised.

  Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you, in my position? If we are to be allies, it is best I understand what I am dealing with. My recent experiences with the Ducal court have made me wary, I explained.

  Very well, then. There are the Avalanti, my kindred. We know the songs of life and growth. There are the Versaroti, some of whom also inhabit these lands, and who know the songs of craft and creation. Then there are the Farastamari, who know the songs of lore and learning. Few of those Alka ever come to these rustic lands. The Nofani know the songs of mystery and memory, and they are but few in number and make their realm in a distant part of Callidore. And there are the Rulathi, the kindred who know the songs of the seas, and who follow the ways of the Sea Folk. A strange people, she commented, but very merry.

  They must not get seasick, I said, remembering my horrible journey back from Farise, getting caught in a squall. I had come a long way from that wretched night, I decided, and drank a healthy swallow of the liquor. It tasted of peaches and licorice. So that’s who the kindreds are. How do the humani fit into your people’s plans?

  The lands you know as the Five Duchies, they are within the bounds my kindred’s realm, the Avalanti. We are responsible for it. It is . . . it is not the best land in the world, but my kindred specializes in songs of life and growth. Before your people came from the Void, it was once a thriving land, but then our own pride and avarice overwhelmed our wisdom, and there was war. After our wars this was a wasteland. That was why it was give to us for safekeeping and restoration . . . and granted to your people when they came from the Void.

  The Five Duchies? A wasteland?

  Originally, yes. But it was well within your race’s tolerance, even ideal, in some ways. What we saw as wasteland you saw as opportunity. The Avalanti and the humani both helped reclaim this land, once long ago. We once were great, ourselves, before our wars, and our works were everywhere across the land We are as fallen from our zenith, in our way, as you are sundered from the great civilization your kind once had in Perwyn. Culturally speaking, we are in similar states.

  I chuckled ruefully and opened a hamper. It was early but this conversation seemed to call for another libation.

  You can still sing rings around us, magically speaking, I pointed out as I poured some interesting-looking bottle into a pretty glass.

  Please do not misunderstand me but . . . that is not the highest of praise.

  Point taken. But so is mine. We may be in similar states, but humanity has fallen far lower than your Avalanti, I imagine.

  What once was great on Callidore, crafted by our songs . . . is no more. The great cities of the Alka are all but gone. The hidden palaces and remote settlements are little more than echoes of past glories. And though there are those who hunger for fresh stories to sing about, the sad fact is that my people are weary. Weary and tired of bearing their burdens.

  Weary? How so?

  Our own great wars took much of our spark from us. What was once unified is now splintered into factions and parties, with ties of loyalty, fealty, and family all competing with ideology.

  It sounds . . . depressing, I said. Not the most politic thing to mention, I suppose.

  Many of us younger Alka are questioning the wisdom of our sires, questioning their old rivalries and alliances, questioning their long-held beliefs. That is causing some discomfort, in some quarters. When we do make more formal overtures to your people, she warned, it may be best if you are prepared for some resistance.

  Alka Alon resistance?

  Aye. And we are a subtle and long-lived people, she reminded me. There are as many who would war with you as would ally with you at the moment. So beware. Accepting our advice, our assistance, and our alliance may well prove fraught with other worries.

  I shrugged. I’ve got just about everyone else pissed off at me, I reasoned, thinking about my wedding. A few Alka Alon in the soup will just keep things interesting.

  I admire your attitude, she said, sincerely. One of the things the allies of the humani among my people value is your boldness.

  Its most oft based on ignorance and foolishness, I pointed out.

  Yet it is endearing nonetheless. I envy your bride, Master Minalan. You are quite the specimen of your race.

  Aww, I demurred, that wouldn’t be a little inter-species crush, would it?

  Such things have happened before, she giggled almost naughtily. It is considered quite scandalous among the more conservative Alka.

  And among the more conservative humani, I agreed. Yet now I’m curious. Our peoples really did . . . mate, once upon a time?

  That wasn’t mere idle speculation, on my part. There were several impressive epics from the Early Magocracy that detailed a few of the more prominent unions between our two species. As disaster followed each one, in ever-increasing waves of catastrophe, the process was frowned upon among my people, as well as Ithalia’s. Some Imperial lines whispered of ancient ancestors who were crossed with the Alka Alon, somehow, but that always seemed a conceit to me.

  How could that even happen, after all? As “pretty” as Ithalia was in her way, she was still decidedly alien. Our parts just didn’t align properly. From what I’d seen of Alka anatomy it might be technically possible . . . but I’m not certain it would be comfortable, from certain perspectives. And angles.

  The Alon had penile sheaths, for instance. Humani did not. The Alon were reported to have two clitorii, not one. Personally, I didn’t see the drawback, but there were other physical differences – not to mention a decided height difference – that would make such a union challenging, at best.

  I’d always written them off as fancy conceits or liberties for the sake of legend, but Ithalia was making me reconsider that position. As unlikely as those fabled pairings sounded, I supposed there had to be some germ of truth in them. There were no such rumors of successful breeding between the other Alon species and humans, from what I knew. But that didn’t mean they didn’t happen at some point.

  I thought of the gurvani, and suppressed a shudder.

  But while Ithalia may have lacked in certain physical characteristics I tend to associate with females . . . actual breasts, for instance . . . she was nonetheless able to project a considerable femininity into her conversation that made me quite aware of her gender. And her warmth. She was almost friendly, compared to most Alka Alon. It was her physical differences that made me comfortable enough to flirt with her on my honeymoon. That made her safe, in my mind, and I was still getting used to being a husband. There wasn’t much chance I’d try to seduce her, for instance. Old habits are hard to break.

  Yes, and perhaps we will discuss that when we have more time. There is another matter of concern I wish to speak with you of, Minalan. You are the first human to be around irionite for an extended period of time, and your bride and unborn child have been, as well.

  That’s the second time you have mentioned that. Why is that a matter of concern?

  Irionite is harsh on some humani. Some of your minds and bodies do not have the natural capacity to bear such power . . . and even its proximity could pose a danger.

  I am monitoring the baby twice a day, I pointed out, alarm
ed.

  The dangers are more subtle than that, she said, quietly. I do not think it is a matter for alarm, Minalan, merely one of concern. If you are amenable, I thought it best to arrange for you to be . . . examined.

  Examined? I asked, even more alarmed. By whom?

  By one of my people, she explained. You are on the Burine, are you not? Near to the fork with the river Teelvar? she asked, though I suspect she knew the answer already. Hells, I didn’t. I was on a barge. Beyond that, I hadn’t been paying much attention.

  Yes, I believe so. Why? And who is this person you want to examine me?

  Why? Because you are close to her, for one. Perhaps not by accident, I think. But you may trust her. She is a very wise Alkan, considered ancient even among my people, and very great, once.

  So she likes humani?

  More than any others among my kindred. She was among the first to welcome your people from the Void, when all others were suspicious of you. She is one of the few voices in our kindred who is not openly concerned about the danger your race presents. Or she was. And one of those who recognized the true nature of your gods, when they appeared for the first time.

  What happened? The true nature of the gods? I was no theurge, but any mage who has witnessed the microcosm and macrocosm could not deny a desire to know the nature of the gods.

  We shall have to save that, too, for another time, she decided. Have your boat sail up the Teelvar, toward the ruins to the northeast. There is a forest of some size, covering ancient hilltops for miles. I will tell you more on the morrow. The song I sang to contact you works only at twilight, and my time is nearly spent.

  That seems surprisingly limited for an Alkan spell, I pointed out.

  I am not . . . not in the best situation at present, Master Minalan, she admitted. Nor am I adept with this song. But if you will consent to speak with me, I shall seek you out again on the morrow? And then we can speak of these . . . interspecies flirtations you’re so interested in. And the nature of the gods. Among other things.

  I just have a dirty mind, I said. And then there’s cosmology. I look forward to it.

  Enjoy your day, Spellmonger, and your bride.

  And then she was gone.

  I sat there for some time, smoking a pipe and watching the river go by through the curtains of the canopy. It was a glorious, peaceful morning, warm for the season but still chill enough to let you know it was nearly winter.

  After the rising sun burned the mist away, I began smelling bacon and tea . . . Palia must have awakened the cook, if she was not already stirring. All I had to do was sit here, and breakfast would appear. Like magic.

  Then I remembered I was a husband, and realized that there were better ways to spend my time. I headed belowdecks with a contented sigh.

  “A bottle next for togetherness . . .”

  “’Jistal ahead, milord,” the captain of the barge, Turic, grunted at me, as I climbed the stairs. “Will we be putting in?”

  “That all depends on whether or not we need to put in,” I decided, “and even more importantly, just what or who is Jistal?”

  Turic smirked, the closest I’d seen the old river rat come to a smile. “Jistal is the town,” he supplied. “Banajistal.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking. Banajistal is a reasonably sized town, about four thousand people, one that I’d sailed by half a dozen times but had never visited. It sits at the conjunction of the Burine and the Teelvar. The town is on the narrow spit of land between the two, walled but without a proper castle refuge. It does have a largish temple (compared to my home village) and a prominent watchtower that looms over the confluence to both for defense and to monitor the river traffic that was Banajistal’s lifeblood.

  “Let’s put in,” I decided. “I’ve never been there, and that will give Alya some firm ground under her feet for a while. There are inns in Banajistal?”

  “Aye,” the captain grunted. “Most too fair for my purse. But a rich lord like yourself, you’d like it, no doubt.” He acted as if that was a serious flaw in my character. I ignored him.

  “And there will be shops, and a market, perhaps. Make the arrangements, and we’ll spend the day there, and perhaps the night.”

  “Very good, milord,” he said, sounding utterly unconvinced.

  Alya, who had settled into the pavilion nest after breakfast, was happy to hear it.

  “I don’t mind river travel,” she said, “but I do get bored. I never knew there were so many towns . . . or so many rivers in the Riverlands. When I was a girl, I always thought that was a silly thing to call a place. But then the widest river I knew was less than ten feet across. I nearly fainted when I came upriver from the coast, seeing how wide the river was there. I thought we were at sea!”

  “You haven’t even seen the sea, yet,” I sighed, smiling. “It will fill you with awe.”

  “And you’ve not only seen such a wonder, but have been beyond it,” she said, looking at me suddenly, with a serious expression. “How rustic I must seem to you!”

  I thought of my conversation with Ithalia, hearing the strange origins of the Five Duchies and the gods themselves, and felt more than a little rustic myself. “It’s not that important a thing,” I decided. “I’ve only been to Farise, and while it is exotic, dangerous, and interesting, after a few days there it is just another place. We have our entire lives to see the world,” I promised.

  “That was so sentimental I may vomit,” she said, sweetly.

  “It’s true!” I insisted. “We’re still alive, and six months ago that was in doubt. In the middle of a siege, surrounded by goblins with no hope of rescue, that’s hardly a time to make a lot of long-term plans.”

  She touched her belly fondly. “Yet here we are.”

  I shrugged. “Ishi and Trygg make their own plans. I’m only responsible for mine.”

  “This one is yours,” she insisted, rubbing a little more firmly now.

  “And I’m building our whole future around him - as far away from Boval Vale as I reasonably can.”

  She winced a bit at the mention of her lost home, and wisely changed the subject. “Then let us go to Banajistal and buy him a blanket or two, and perhaps have him blessed in the temple,” she said with a sigh. “My lord husband,” she added, a twinkle in her eye.

  Magic words. I was still getting used to them. I kissed my wife.

  Banajistal had docks all along the waterfront, facing the brown stone walls. We put in as near to the tip as we could. I wasn’t certain which way we would go on our journey to nowhere yet, but I still had five bottles of mead to get through. I like options.

  While the mate paid the dock fees, Palia helped Alya prepare for the outing . . . and then attended her. That is, she stood around and just waited to be told what to do. She seemed very professional about it, but my rustic bride wasn’t comfortable with it, at first.

  “It’s like she’s a slave or something!”

  “I doubt it,” I decided. “I don’t think Penny owns a lot of slaves. But she’s good at what she does. Let her be. You just enjoy yourself. You need to get used to servants. We’re going to need some, I think.”

  She stared at me in disbelief. “Servants?”

  “You think you can run a whole castle by yourself?” I teased.

  “Castle?” she asked, her voice a little fainter.

  “Relax,” I soothed. “After a while, you’ll see it’s just another place. Another job. Like bossing a creamery, only on a larger, more complex scale.”

  Alya had managed Hawk’s Reach, her father’s holding, and had overseen a profitable, if simple, business. She was used to bossing around farmhands and cowherds. Not scullery maids and castellans. Having Palia around would be good training for that.

  Banajistal was the largest town Alya had ever been to, so she was eager to look at everything at once. She was not particularly concerned about looking like a rustic, which I appreciated. She did want to stop and look at every stall and shop.

  “No buy
ing now,” I said. “If you see something you like, we’ll pick it up on the way back. Less for Palia to carry,” I pointed out.

  “I see a thousand things I want,” she confessed, suddenly getting a little weepy. “I have nothing. We have nothing. Everything we owned is lost.”

  “Just things,” I reminded, putting my arm around her. “We can get more.”

  “How are you paying for all of this?” she wondered aloud.

  “We have plenty of money, remember? I promised. “And if we run out, I’ll make more. I’m a spellmonger. I can hawk love potions and lost dog spells in the market if I need to. We’ll manage,” I teased.

  “You are so sure of yourself, all the time,” she observed . . . which made me uncomfortable, but it was better than her being weepy. “How do you do that? Even in the middle of the siege, you were always . . . you knew what you were doing. You even joked.”

  “I faked it convincingly,” I countered with a laugh. “I was terrified. You knew I was terrified.”

  “But it never kept you from doing what you needed to.”

  “You give me too much credit. But if you must know,” I sighed, putting my hand on the small of her back and gently urging her along, “I just pretend I know what I’m doing. So far, no one has called me to account on that. I’ve been lucky.”

  “You’ve been brave,” she said, allowing me to guide her through the narrow streets toward the market proper.

  “I’m a knight, now,” I reminded her. “Rescuing maidens fair is our business. Or, that’s what I pretend when they need rescuing.”

  “So is joking casually about serious matters, apparently,” she said, the barest touch of edge to her voice. “I’m trying to compliment you, my husband!”

  “You compliment me by your very presence,” I said, as smoothly as a courtier. “Um . . . considering I’ve spread rumors far and wide of a peasant uprising led by a spellmonger, let’s pretend we’re just a regular married couple come to market.”

  “Oh!” she said, her eyes growing wide as she pulled her mantle around her. “Like in the stories!”